


like an electric current

by horatioandophelia



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Artist!R, Good Friend Combeferre, M/M, Non-Binary Jean Prouvaire, Oblivious Enjolras, dancer!R, jehan wears a flower crown, rally comin up, we need an auditorium, wicked game cover by james vincent mcmorrow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 09:09:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20171752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horatioandophelia/pseuds/horatioandophelia
Summary: Enjolras had never seen Grantaire dance. He had overheard Jehan say one time that Grantaire had never let anyone see him dance, that dance was a very private thing for him because dance was the only thing that he had after he overdosed in high school.Enjolras wasn't a stalker, and he wasn't in love. Honestly. Grantaire was just... really interesting.





	like an electric current

Enjolras felt his nostrils flare again as he watched the dim evening light flicker in Grantaire’s curls.  _ It would be so much easier to hate him, _ he thought savagely,  _ if he were just a little less gorgeous. _

Grantaire was sitting in a cramped corner booth of the Student Union Building, laughing at something that Courfeyrac had said. His shoulders were shaking and his eyes were crinkling up at the corners. Courfeyrac was grinning, but Enjolras was not amused. “Hey, guys,” he said in a desperate attempt at a calm voice. “We’re kind of in the middle of a meeting here.”

“Yeah, sorry,” said Grantaire, stifling another giggle. “Courf was just -- ”

“I really don’t care,” snapped Enjolras, swallowing back all the things he felt at the sound of Grantaire’s laughter. “We’re trying to plan for a huge presentation and then the rally for the end of the semester. I just want us to focus, okay?”

Grantaire’s eyes lost all their warmth. “Right,” he said quietly. “Sorry.”

Enjolras felt his heart clench in his chest as Grantaire’s shoulders slumped and he faded from gold to grey in the spanse of just a few words. Something in the back of his mind wanted to sink to its knees screaming:  _ why  _ was Grantaire so infuriating, and why did he feel so awful about trying to refocus this very important meeting? What was wrong? 

He closed his eyes briefly, wishing profoundly that he had said something else, done something else, anything else.

But the meeting continued without another hitch, just like Enjolras had said he wanted. 

“Courf,” said Enjolras tentatively twenty minutes later, watching everyone file out of the conference room.

Courfeyrac looked up, guarded. “What’s up? Are you still pissed at me for talking during the meeting?”

“Um.”  _ Kind of.  _ “Doesn’t matter.”

Courfeyrac’s narrowed eyes and his smirk told him he wasn’t fooling anyone. “Okay, well, what’s up then?”

_ What were you and Grantaire laughing about? Why does he make me so angry? Why is he different from everyone else I’ve ever met? How do I make him smile like that? _

“How are you studying for Javert’s final?”

“Oh, dude, I lucked out so hard! I got a grad student to show me one of the old finals - here, it’s in my bag…” 

Grantaire had always been an enigma. He had always been something just out of reach, some fey creature that always eluded Enjolras’ grasp. He drank and smoked and threw his soul at everything he touched, and all while, he hid everything about himself that could be touched in return.  _ You just have to get to know him,  _ Jehan had said one time.  _ Once he lets you in, you’re there forever, and he’ll always be there for you.  _ And Enjolras had tried, since realizing how much he hated seeing Grantaire’s face fall at that meeting, to be kind, and sometimes, very occasionally, he would see Grantaire’s face light up when they spoke.

But Enjolras wasn’t stupid enough to think that Grantaire had, at any point, ‘let him in’ - in any sense of what Jehan meant. 

Enjolras had to pass the Art Building on his way to Foreign Policy every Wednesday, and sometimes he would catch glimpses of Grantaire in one of the windows, hunched in front of an easel, sipping coffee, or maybe in the mirrors on the top floor, doing warm-ups for a ballet class he taught to kids as part of the Early Childhood Ed classes. 

Enjolras had never seen Grantaire dance. He had overheard Jehan say one time that Grantaire had never let anyone see him dance, that dance was a very private thing for him because dance was the only thing that he had after he overdosed in high school. The baby ballet classes didn’t count, Jehan had said. They just ‘kept his feet warm,’ whatever that meant. 

On the rare Wednesdays that he didn’t see Grantaire in one of the windows, he would slow his pace, trying to catch a glimpse of him, and then continue on his way, feeling strangely bereft. He was more snappish on those days and far less patient with the hapless freshmen in his 101 classes. 

He resolutely quashed any contemplation over this when he noticed it. Just because Grantaire was incredibly talented (Enjolras had seen his art, had heard his voice) and undeniably good-looking did  _ not  _ mean that there was anything…  _ between  _ them. Of course there wasn’t. 

This particular Wednesday, the snow was melting under Enjolras’s feet as he trudged to Foreign Policy, tiredly raising his eyes to the windows of the Art Building. He hadn’t slept well; his American Diplomacy paper had taken longer than anticipated and he had eventually pulled an all-nighter to finish it on time. His coffee mug was already half-empty and he hadn’t even gotten to his second class yet. 

Grantaire wasn’t in the windows, not at the easel, not warming up upstairs, nowhere. 

Enjolras, to his own bafflement, suddenly felt close to tears. He just wanted to see Grantaire, just one look, and then he’d keep going and go to Foreign Policy and diligently hand in the homework… He found that he had stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, staring doggedly at the Art Building like some sort of stalker. Shaking off his stupor and the sudden sense of pervasive melancholy, he had started off towards the Humanities Building when he was stopped by a hoarse, familiar voice.

“Apollo?”

Enjolras’s stomach flipped. He turned back.

Grantaire was right behind him, wearing a frankly enormous scarf and carrying an even more enormous thermos, looking slightly bemused. “What are you doing on this side of campus?”

“I -- ” Enjolras cleared his throat. “I have to walk this way to get to my class on Wednesdays.”  _ I’m not a stalker,  _ he wanted to add.  _ I just like to see you.  _

It didn’t sound good, even in his head. 

“Oh,” said Grantaire, his tone muted. “Well, I won’t keep you. I know you’re busy.”

_ Not when I can see you.  _ “Yeah, crazy schedule.”

Grantaire gave him a small smile. “Is that why your mug’s almost empty?” He asked, gesturing to Enjolras’s thermos. 

“Oh, um,” said Enjolras intelligently.

“Here,” said Grantaire, taking the thermos out of Enjolras’s grasp. Their fingers brushed and Enjolras almost jerked back, but Grantaire seemed not to notice. He opened his gigantic thermos and poured steaming black coffee into Enjolras’s mug, then handed it back to him with an uncertain expression. “It’s not that great, just the big Folger’s tub from Costco,” he said shyly.

Enjolras took a sip, sighing as it warmed him up. “It’s really good, R,” he said honestly. “Thank you. Really.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire said, cheeks pink for some reason. “You - you should get to class.”

“Yeah,” said Enjolras absently. Grantaire’s paint-stained fingers were curled around the coffee thermos, covered in golds and reds and browns.

“Enjolras,” repeated Grantaire, raising his eyebrows.

“Right!” said Enjolras, blushing up to his hairline and starting off for the Humanities Buildings as fast as reasonably possible.  _ Though you’ve made a fool of yourself enough already, don’t you think?  _

“It’s nearing the end of the semester, M. Enjolras, so I don’t know that there will be any openings for your presentation, but you can call this number and see what they’ve got available,” said the dean, handing Enjolras a slip of paper. “In all honesty, it’s quite unlikely, since there are quite a few senior presentations going on around that time, and the Art Department is also showcasing some performances. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” said Enjolras, scanning the card. As he left the office, he pulled out his phone.

_ You: so they said it might not be available since there’s a lot of senior presentations  _

_ Combeferre: shit okay… i wonder if valjean would be able to squeeze us in after hours on sunday? since it closes at 6 on sundays? _

_ You: yeah i’ll ask him after class tomorrow _

_ Combeferre: sounds good lmk _

“So Valjean said it’s possible,” said Enjolras, sliding into the booth next to Combeferre and Bossuet. “But the senior theses come first.”

“Fair,” said Bossuet, nodding. “But still shitty.”

“Yeah,” said Enjolras, trying not to look as stressed out as he felt. It must not have worked, since Combeferre’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, rubbing small circles.

“We’ll figure something out, dude,” he said kindly. “Or, rather, you will,” he added. “You’re pretty driven, Enj, I think something will work out, if only because you literally will it to happen.”

Enjolras smiled, exhaustion pulling at him. “Thanks, Ferre.”

Combeferre looked at him. “Grantaire said you were pretty dead yesterday when he saw you. Have you gotten much sleep since then?”

“Um,” said Enjolras. “Sure. Yeah.” 

Bossuet swatted him. 

“Bullshit,” said Combeferre, nodding at Bossuet’s truculent expression and ignoring Enjolras’s noise of protest.

“Fine! No! I got, like, four hours of sleep because I was trying to think of another venue for the rally, and then I remembered at five this morning that I had a presentation due today, and then I had class at nine!”

Bossuet laughed and Combeferre sighed, shaking his head.

The door opened with a bang as the autumn wind swept through the room, papers fluttering in its wake.

“What’s up, kids?” said Grantaire, unwrapping his scarf and pulling up a chair, choosing to sit in it backwards and slumping over it dramatically.

Enjolras’s spine snapped straight. Suddenly, his fatigue was gone.

“Nothing,” said Bossuet, still smiling. “It’s just that Enjolras can’t seem to remember that human beings require such petty atrocities as sleep.”

“I can too!” said Enjolras, his voice coming out far more petulant than he had intended. Combeferre looked at him strangely. 

“I mean,” he said in a calmer voice. “It’s just that there’s a lot to do for the rally at the end of the semester, and the auditorium is all booked up.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Grantaire. “There’s a bunch of senior presentations going on in there. I’m helping out with some of the ones from the Art Department. There’s a lot of vocalists doing stuff this year.”

“Do you know of any openings that might come up?” said Enjolras eagerly.  _ Tone it down, Jesus Christ. _

“Not right now,” said Grantaire. “But I’ll let you know if somebody comes down with bronchitis or something.”

“Thank you,” said Enjolras sincerely.

“Yeah, of course,” said Grantaire, picking at the back of the chair. His cheeks were flushed again. Enjolras tried not to stare, but realized he was failing abjectly when Combeferre elbowed him hard, clearing his throat.

“How’s your exhibition coming along?” asked Combeferre. “Is that one painting still kicking your ass?”

Grantaire laughed, and Enjolras watched, smiling, as his eyes lit up. “No,” he said. “It’s actually almost done, I’ve got all the basics laid out and all that’s left is to fill them in now.”

Enjolras watched as he talked genially with Combeferre, smiling and running his hands through his hair once or twice, saying something that made Bossuet laugh. Enjolras was sure it had been witty and appropriate, but he had completely missed it in favor of watching him smile. As he turned his head to say something to Combeferre, Grantaire caught Enjolras looking at him and flushed an undeniable scarlet, swallowing hard as his expression suddenly changed.

“I - I’m gonna go, guys,” he stammered, standing up.

“But you just sat down five minutes ago!” said Bossuet bewilderedly.

“Um, yeah, just remembered, I’ve got… stuff for finals,” muttered Grantaire, studying the floor.

“Okay, no worries. See you, R,” said Combeferre.

Enjolras watched him go.  _ Great job, you made him uncomfortable enough that he had to leave rather than stay and put up with your weird, creepy staring. What the hell is wrong with you? _

It was Wednesday again. How was it already Wednesday again? Enjolras stared at the date on his phone, feeling secretly thrilled that he would be able to pass the Art Building again, and maybe speak to Grantaire. 

The grass was coming in around the edges of the sidewalks as he walked, little shoots of green emerging from the dark brown and grey of the winter. He looked up, scanning the huge windows of the Art Building automatically. There was no sign of Grantaire in the lower level, where empty easels sat and waited for students to finish their pieces. Feeling his heart lurch, Enjolras scanned the top floor, hoping, hoping --

There was a young boy doing leaps by the window, his back arching as he jumped and spun around in a complex, adroit movement that caught Enjolras’s eye - but no Grantaire. He had almost given up when he saw the boy jump, turn, land badly, and then fall heavily to the floor.

In a moment, Grantaire appeared by his side. 

As Enjolras watched, he helped the boy up, his mouth moving and his brows furrowing in concern. The boy was shaking his head, frustrated. He scrubbed his face, clearly trying not to cry, and Grantaire’s expression changed. His features softened, and he began to say something very earnestly, kneeling next to the boy and gesturing with his hands. The boy nodded, and picked himself up. Grantaire smiled, and Enjolras felt his heart pounding in his chest.

Then suddenly Grantaire’s gaze shifted, and his eyes caught Enjolras staring. As their eyes met, his handsome face changed from proud to confused. Enjolras blinked, jerking his eyes down to the sidewalk, stomach churning, and hurried towards Foreign Policy. 

“M. Enjolras?” said the secretary. “M. Valjean won’t be able to see you for about another hour. He says he’s very sorry, but there’s all this business with Professor Fantine about taking on one of her students as a TA that’s taking longer than expected. Can you wait?”

Enjolras fumed silently. He’d already been waiting for an hour. “Yes, that’s fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I really am sorry, sir,” said the secretary apologetically, his tone genuine. 

“It’s alright,” said Enjolras, feeling slightly less livid. The man was just doing his job.

“If I were you, I’d go and see the hall and talk to one of the planners there, too, just in case they have information on any openings that we don’t have right now,” the secretary suggested kindly. 

Enjolras hadn’t thought of that. “Thanks!” he said, gathering his things. “Tell Professor Valjean that I’ll be back in just a minute, if he gets free before I’m back,” he added as he slipped out the door. The secretary nodded, waving goodbye. 

The hall was dark, deserted except for a few people on stage who looked like they were discussing minutiae and getting ready to leave. Not wanting to disturb them, Enjolras decided to take a seat in the very back and catch the planning lady - for it was obviously her, with her clipboard, pencil, and posture - before she left. 

He sat for ten minutes, watching her run through a few dance steps with another girl in black tights and ballet slippers. It was warm inside the hall, the old woody smell of the seats combined with the dim light made him sleepy. The lady with the clipboard seemed to be wrapping up, it would only be a few minutes now… 

He was woken by the sound of guitar pouring out of the speakers. He shot up in his seat, disoriented. How much time had passed? The dim afternoon sunshine had faded into darkness, and the only light was on the stage itself. Still trying to understand what was happening, Enjolras watched a man step onto the stage, a sharp and striking silhouette. There was something familiar in the shape of his back, the way he moved his arms, that Enjolras couldn’t quite place. His shoulders rolled, his head came up, and he began to dance. Enjolras jolted in sudden realization.

It was Grantaire.

_ World was on fire, no one could save me but you. _

He was good. He was more than good. He moved like he was born to dance this piece, this song, here on this stage, for the rest of his life. He leapt and turned and pushed against invisible burdens and unseen walls. He was the most graceful thing Enjolras had ever seen. If Enjolras hadn’t known better, he would have assumed that Grantaire had never done anything but dance this dance, here in this quiet sanctuary, baring his soul and his whole life story in this one dance, this one song.

Motionless, transfixed, he sat in the old wooden seats of the auditorium, watching Grantaire as he finished, coming to rest at the corner of the stage, breathing heavily. Enjolras watched him slowly come back to himself, his head coming up and his shoulders falling. Blinking, Enjolras tried unsuccessfully to calm his racing heart.

_ Should I say that I’m here? Should I say anything at all? Oh, my God, that was amazing, he was incredible, that was so hot - No, not relevant, but should I say something? What do I -- _

Grantaire reached behind the speaker and unplugged his phone from the auxiliary cord, shoved it in his pocket, and walked down the stairs at the back of the stage to the side exit. He moved slowly, as if reluctant to leave, but then shook his head slightly and pushed the door open. Enjolras, still sitting in mute awe, watched him shove a cigarette into his mouth as he left.

Suddenly, his phone blared his ringtone ( _ Break Free,  _ by Queen) into the solemn darkness. Jumping, he pulled it out of his pocket. 

_ “M. Enjolras? Yes, I’m very sorry, but you just missed Professor Valjean. He said that he hasn’t seen any openings but he’ll let you know if anything changes…” _

“Jehan! Jehan, wait!”

Jehan turned, their flower crown slipping slightly on their head. They frowned. “Enjolras?”

“Yeah, wait just a second,” Enjolras panted.

“Did you run here all the way from Javert’s class?” asked Jehan concernedly.

“Yeah, I -- how do you know I’m in Javert’s class?” asked Enjolras, still trying to catch his breath.

“Courfeyrac,” said Jehan, turning pink and trying not to smile.

“Oh, yeah, congratulations on that,” said Enjolras, wondering how to broach the subject of Grantaire. 

“Thanks,” said Jehan, smiling wider. “But what’s up? Why’d you have to run across campus to talk to me? I have a phone, you know,” they added mildly.

“Um,” said Enjolras. “I. Um.”

Jehan laid a gentle arm on Enjolras’s shoulder. “Are you okay, Enj?”

“Yeah, yeah, just, um. I saw - I saw Grantaire dance,” he managed to get out.

Jehan’s face went blank. “Oh,” they said. 

“I didn’t mean to!” said Enjolras, a little too loudly. “He didn’t see me, I was just there, in the auditorium, and then I fell asleep and I woke up and he was on stage, and he started dancing! He was amazing, Jehan, but I feel horrible. It was almost  _ dishonest  _ or something, because he didn’t know I was there, and I don’t know what to  _ do _ \-- ”

“Hey,” interrupted Jehan. “I need you to breathe, okay?”

Enjolras tried, but he still felt overwhelmed. “Should I tell him? Should I do anything at all? What do you think?”

Jehan peered up at him. “Why are you this worried about it? It doesn’t seem like you.”

Enjolras shook his head. “I don’t know. I just know that I want to tell him that I saw him because I want him to know that he was amazing, he was  _ beautiful _ , Jehan, and I want to tell him, but I don’t -- I don’t know -- ”

“Enjolras,” said Jehan very gently. “Do you have feelings for Grantaire?”

Enjolras looked at them helplessly, his mouth very dry. “I…” 

“Maybe you should figure that out first,” said Jehan, as if trying to reason with a very confused toddler. “And then think about talking to Grantaire about what you saw.”

Enjolras nodded. “Okay,” he said in a small voice.

Jehan smiled at him, patting his arm. “It’s all going to be alright, Enj. Promise.”

_ Grantaire was dancing on the upper level of the Arts Building, and Enjolras was watching from the sidewalk below. Then suddenly, he was right next to Grantaire, watching him dance, and then he was in Grantaire’s arms and Grantaire was dancing with him, spinning him around the room in a swirl of golds and reds and browns. The only constants were his green eyes, smiling at Enjolras, and everything else seemed to fall away until only Grantaire remained, his arms around Enjolras, holding him close. His hands came up to hold Enjolras’s face, and he leaned in and kissed him softly. _

_ Enjolras kissed him back, starved for Grantaire’s touch, and felt himself melt into Grantaire’s embrace. He let his hands run through Grantaire’s hair and down his chest, his own heart racing as he felt Grantaire’s, beating a frantic staccato underneath his fingers…  _

He jolted awake, his heart still pounding, and sat up in bed, breathing hard.

“I have feelings for Grantaire,” he whispered into the dark. He wanted to pull the words back as soon as he said them, to deny them, to forget they had ever been spoken, but he knew instinctively that they were true. There was no point in denying them. 

He shoved the heels of his hands into his eyes, rubbing them, trying to make sense of things.  _ But he’s beautiful, he’s so beautiful, I can’t help it. He’s amazing. _

_ God damn it. _

Unable to get back to sleep, Enjolras decided to draft another email to Professor Valjean, hoping that if he pestered the man enough, he’d finally get some sort of definite answer about the auditorium. Staring at his laptop screen in his secluded corner of the quad courtyard, he felt his stomach turn over queasily.  _ Is this actually going to happen, or is it all just… kind of pointless? _

He sighed, rubbing his face tiredly before blinking viciously to refocus his eyes on the computer screen.

“Enjolras! Hey,  _ Enjolras!”  _ called Combeferre. He was running with a laughing Grantaire across the courtyard, grinning like a madman and waving frantically.

Enjolras blinked. “Guys?”

Combeferre and Grantaire came to a halt in front of him, panting slightly. 

“What’s going on?” asked Enjolras slowly.

“Why don’t you tell him, Grantaire?” said Combeferre, smiling widely.

Enjolras looked at Grantaire, who smiled shyly.

“We got the auditorium,” he said softly. “For two o’clock on Saturday. Until four.”

Enjolras’s breath left him, as if he’d been punched. “What?”

“Yeah,” said Grantaire, biting his lip to hold back a smile. “That’s the day you wanted, isn’t it? The one you were hoping -- ”

He was cut off as Enjolras threw his arms around him. “Grantaire, oh my God, Grantaire, thank you,  _ thank you -- ” _

Grantaire let out a peal of merry laughter, throwing his arms around Enjolras’s shoulders for a moment before pulling back. “Yeah, of course,” he said, his eyes glowing. “Anytime.”

Combeferre cleared his throat. “I’ve, um, got to get to class,” he said, darting off towards the Biology Building. Enjolras barely registered him leaving, instead watching Grantaire, who was turning away, saying, “I’ve got to get to class, too, Apollo, I’ll see you around.” 

Enjolras grabbed his arm. “Wait,” he said desperately. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he managed to get out.

Grantaire looked completely taken aback. “What?”

“I am, I’m sorry. Look, R, I’ve been really rude in the past, and it was really uncalled for, and I just wanted to tell you -- ”

Grantaire shook his head, looking tired. “No worries, Apollo, I get it. The cause comes first, and sometimes I get in the way, but there’s no need -- ”

“No!” Enjolras burst out. “I mean, yes, sometimes you do interrupt meetings, or whatever, but that’s not -- I mean -- ”

Grantaire waited, confusion written clearly on his face.

“I saw you dance,” said Enjolras baldly. “I saw you dance one night in the auditorium. I didn’t mean to, and I wanted to tell you, and I’m sorry I didn’t, because Jehan said it’s a really private thing for you, but it was amazing, R, you’re an incredible dancer, and now you somehow got the auditorium for us, too -- ”

“You saw me?” interrupted Grantaire, very softly. “You saw me dance?”

Enjolras swallowed. “Y-yes,” he croaked. 

And there on Grantaire’s face he saw the vulnerability he had never hoped would ever be trusted to him, an openness that he had only dreamed of. Grantaire studied him, desperation and hope fighting a clear battle in his eyes. And Enjolras tried to show him, without speaking, that  _ yes, I understand what it means to you; I know why it matters, I know how much it matters, please believe me, please…  _

Grantaire let out a breath. “Okay,” he said shakily. “Thanks for telling me. I know it shouldn’t be such a big deal to me,” he added, his face twisting in what Enjolras guessed was an attempt at a smile. “But it is. So. Thanks for telling me.”

“Yeah,” said Enjolras lamely. 

“I’m gonna go,” said Grantaire in a grey, lifeless voice. 

“No! Wait, Grantaire! Please!” said Enjolras desperately as he turned away. “I’m sorry!”

“Don’t worry about it, Apollo,” said Grantaire dully. 

“No, what I meant was, I saw you dance, and it was like looking -- looking at you, at your  _ soul,  _ R,” he said, trying to find the words.

“Yeah, I know,” said Grantaire, suddenly vicious. “I hate it. But I can’t help it when I dance, that’s just what happens. It’s the only time I’m ever really honest. All my flaws get put on display, it’s a fucking nightmare. It’s horrible. And I’m sorry you had to see it.”

“R?” Enjolras whispered, dumbfounded. “Is that what you really think?”

Grantaire’s eyes looked at him, full of agony. “You saw,” he said. “You saw. I know you did.”

Enjolras blinked back sudden tears. “I saw you dance,” he said. “And it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I dreamed about it, after. I keep thinking about you. It was -- it was amazing, I don’t think I’ll ever have the words to describe it.”

Grantaire looked about as shaken as Enjolras felt. “You -- you dreamed about me?”

“Yeah,” said Enjolras, trying to laugh. “I really can’t stop thinking about you. It’s ridiculous. Jehan had to explain it to me.”

“Explain what?” 

Enjolras swallowed. “I’m really -- I’m pretty sure that I’m falling in love with you, R.”

He watched, his heart falling at his feet, as Grantaire suddenly went stone-faced. “Is this because of what someone told you? About how I feel about you?”

Enjolras’s stomach lurched. “I know that you don’t really like me a lot,” he began miserably. “I know you’re not really - comfortable around me. But I was hoping that maybe I could - I could show you that I’m not creepy and weird all the time. That’s just because I really like you, and I get awkward. But I get it if it’s too much for you. I know it’s weird.”

Grantaire looked flabbergasted. “You - you think I don’t like you?”

“Well, um, yes?”

Grantaire laughed. Enjolras’s heart leapt. “Apollo,” he said softly. “I’ve always been in love with you.”

“What? No, you haven’t,” said Enjolras automatically. “That - that can’t possibly be true. You always get so uncomfortable around me! I’m always doing the wrong thing and then you leave!”

“Enjolras,” murmured Grantaire gently. “I was always worried that I’d make you uncomfortable. That I’d do the wrong thing, and make you leave. I was terrified of losing what little of you that I had.”

“Oh,” said Enjolras intelligently. “So, you actually -- you like me too?”

Grantaire looked at him, his eyes shining. “Always.”

Enjolras couldn’t help himself. Throwing his arms around Grantaire’s waist, he pulled him close and kissed him, running his hands over his back, moulding their bodies together. And it was even more amazing than in his dream, because this was  _ real;  _ he could never have imagined the way Grantaire’s hands felt in his hair, on his face, rubbing soft circles on his neck, the way he bit softly on Enjolras’s lower lip, the way his tongue ran along Enjolras’s, the way their bodies just  _ fit.  _

Grantaire pulled away after some indefinite period, his eyes unfocused and dreamy. “Apollo,” he said softly. “I think we should do this somewhere else.”

“Oh,” said Enjolras. “Right.” He straightened up, still unable to tear his eyes from Grantaire’s face. “Sorry, shouldn’t have done that.”

Grantaire, apparently unable to help himself, made a vague noise of disagreement, and somehow they were kissing again, tongues intertwining and hands roaming. Enjolras couldn’t seem to pull away. Eventually the peals of the clock tower broke them apart some time later. 

Enjolras blinked fuzzily, desire still racing through him like an electric current. He looked at Grantaire, at his green eyes and his perfect Greek nose and his shiny, reddened lips. His eyes were clear and open, and Enjolras could only look at him in awe. He was just as beautiful now as he was on the stage, where he’d bared his soul to no one - and to Enjolras. And somehow, by some miracle, this man was willing to show him all of this, in honesty and openness. 

“I - Thank you,” he whispered, unable to find any other words.

Grantaire didn’t have to ask him what for. “Yeah,” he whispered back. “Thank you.”


End file.
